



P5J$'^3 






LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

015 799 874 2 



Hollinger Corp* » 

pH 8.5 



PS 3503 
.R82 MS 
1903 
Copy 1 f 




i€ 



THE niSTLETOE 



9f 



BOOK OF poems 



BY 



LELAH HARRISON BROWN 

Author of "THE GOLDENROD" 



Ev. E. Carreras, Printer and Binder, St. Louis. 



"THE MISTLETOE" 



BOOK OF POEMS 



BY 



LELAH HARRISON BROWN 

Author of "THE GOLDENROD" 



[Copyrighted by the Author, 1903I 






I THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS. 

Two Copies Receivet* 

SEP to 1903 

.Copyright Entry 

I cl/ss a. xx«x No 

COPV B, 






'^^^^^ 






^ 


INTRODUCT ON 


^ 



T ELAH HARRISON BROWN, author of these poems, 
was born in Richmond, Va. She is the oldest daughter 
of the late Captain Charles H. Brown and great grand- 
daughter of Job Wragg, of Manchester, England, also 
granddaughter of John Wragg, of Mobile, Ala. 

In presenting these poems to the public, it is the 
author's wish that they will prove more successful than 
any of the other poems that have heretofore been published, 
owing to their entire newness and variance dealing with 
human nature as it appeals to each and every individual 
as they enter into the great arena of life struggling for 
existence. 




-^1 iNt^H;<^. ^ 



Died at the Portal 5 

Tell Me, Little Birdie 9 

Warning 10 

A Lessonil 10 

Stars and Stripes 11 

What is Woman? 12 

The Table and the Chair 12 

The Trunk 13 

The Children 14 

To a Friend .16 

There's Sunshine Now 16 

My Mother's Flower Vase 17 

When You Have Money 18 

The Great Ambition 19 

The Minister 20 

Look for the Beautiful. .21 

My Garden 22 

War 23 

Golden Rod 24 

England 24 

A Gentleman. 25 

Who Couldn't Get Married? 25 

The Two Paths or A Walk in Life 26 

The Earth 27 

Easter 28 

This Wonderful Age 30 

Varied Thoughts 32 



^^ 



MISTLETOE 



Mistletoe, Mistletoe, 

In the wintertide, 
Through the dreary woods are seen 

Brightest wreaths so green. 



JDied at The Bortah 

This poem is an extract taken from an incident which 
occurred in St. Louis about three years ago. A laborer 
named Henry Smidt was arrested on the charge of 
stealing a loaf of bread from a nearby bakery. He was 
once a prosperous stonecutter, earning good wages, 
when suddenly the hand of sickness visited him, stealing 
from him little by little until he was forced to give up 
his work. The money he had saved through his hard 
earnings gradually dwindled down until the last mite 
was consumed, and above all, his health was a total 
wreck, it had vanished. No money and no friends, he 
started on the streets asking for a few mouthfuls of 
bread, not one responded, door after door and street after 
street, till the poor creature was starving with hunger. 
Seeing a bakery with her piles of hot bread, almost 
breaking the counter, he asked again, hoping this time 
he would be relieved. No, growled the woman, we have 
nothing for you. Turning his eyes to the bread, he 
thought the woman was gone, and he grabbed hold of 
a fresh loaf, thinking no one saw him. No sooner had 
he turned the corner when two policemen arrested him, 
a poor starving creature. He was sent to the work- 



house. Traveling so long upon his feet all day with 
nothing to eat, his entire physical body gave way, and 
raising his weary eyes as they opened the door of the 
workhouse, he fainted. The sight was too horrible for 
a dying man to enter and he died at the portal. 

Man to man is just as ferocious 

As any beast on earth, 
When e're he sees a poor, weak creature 

There he goes for all he's worth. 

In a city, strong and prosperous. 
From the wealth of London's bank, 

Dare disgrace the name of Jehova 
For their selfish, worldly rank. 

Would to God that they were sinking, 
Sinking where they could not rise, 

How they'd cry for the world to save them, 
Pleading, begging for their lives. 

If I couldn't catch a live man. 
Chain and bring him down to jail, 

I certainly wouldn't capture the starving, 
And the dying I'd let go free. 



I. 

The sun rose o'er the city 
In the glory of its might, 

Not a soul to tell the story 
In its broad, stupendous light. 

II. 
And the city, rapt in splendor, 

In her dazzling wealth and pride. 
Could not hear the voice of anguish 

When it mingled at her side. 

—6— 



III. 

Could not see its own pedestrian, 

lis own human blood akin, 
Stricken down to grave destruction 

By an overpowering sin. 

IV. 
Forced upon the streets to wonder. 

Sick and dying on the way, 
Only asking for that portion 

That sustains this frame of clay. 

V. 
Yet the sea of dismal faces 

Frowned upon him more and more, 
Like a mass of angry billows 

Lashed against a dreary shore. 

VI. 
While the heavens roll'd on in splendor, 

Clouded in a world of light, 
Why hath God and man forsaken him 

In this hour? Oh, wretched night. 

VII. 

Asking, asking, still was asking 
For a crust of bread, once more 

Forced to beg and forced to wonder 
Through the streets, from door to door. 

VIII. 
"No — 0-0-0," Like peals of thunder 

Flashed upon him o'er and o'er. 
"No — 0-0-0," Till the very heavens sounded. 

Trembling 'neath its awful roar. 



IX. 

And the story yet unfinished 
For the night will soon be here, 

When no longer day affords us 
Time for one regretful tear. 

X. 

And they seized him ere he journeyed 
Great policeman bold and strong, 

Chained and bound, a dying creature, 
Dragged him, jerked him, all along. 

XI. 

Then the portal widely opened 
Of that grim old musty cell. 

Where no sunlight ever ventured, 
Blacker than the haunts of hell. 

XII. 

And the crowds that followed after 

No one dared to interfere, 
For the law, a piece of monarchy. 

Firmly held the silent tear. 

XIII. 
Yet, the last hope dawned upon him 

Like some meteor from afar, 
Flashed across that stony pathway, 

Like the twinkling of a star. 

XIV. 
And the feeble step was shortened 

By that unseen Power on High 
Who had witnessed his befallen 

In that hour, passed not by. 

-8— 



XV. 

Aye, He called him ere he faltered 
To that glorious Portal Fair, 

Where no fetters wait to bind him 
And no policeman walketh there. 

XVI. 

Where his people from all ages 
From all sin and care set free, 

Ne'er shall tread the streets with hunger, 
Happy and fore'er shall be. 



Tell Me Little Birdie. 

Tell me little birdie 

Why are you so gay, 
Twittering, singing 

All the summer day, 
Up above the tree-tops. 

Diving in the air, 
Joyous little songsters, 

Flying everywhere. 

See him in the meadows 

Hopping on the grass, 
And the children gather 

See him when they pass. 
Oh the merry creatures 

Fill the world with song, 
Twittering, singing 

All the summer long. 



Warning, 

Beware, I say, 
She's watching you — 
Those dreamy eyes so 
Deep and blue. 

They'lll catch you unawares. 
She sees the drift of how 
You act, 

You may not know it 
Is a fact. 

Those eyes are everywhere. 
A glance or two 
Those eyes bespell 
The fathomless depths 
That human tell. 

That flash upon the outward view. 
Wicked, saintly or untrue, 
A scepter may be thine to 
Choose 

And still those eyes are 
Watching you. 

A Lesson. 

Whoever hath taught me a lesson 

Hath taught me a lesson to learn, 
For I've pondered it over and over 

These eyes can never discern. 
I've seen the white winged Angel, 

I've heard the lowly reply 
Who have struggled and struggled together, 

Till at last, they wish they might die. 
And what is this mystical valley, 

This mystical frame of the dust 
That plants his foot on the living 

For the sake of his own little lust. 

-10- 



So great is he of his riches 

That some day he'll throw them aside 
And take to a different pathway 

Where the soul will ever abide. 

And I pity the poor little creature 
That he cannot stay here alway 

To dwellin this flowery valley 
Good enough for a. skeptic to stay. 



Stars and Stripes. 

Float out abroad ye Stars and Stripes, 

Float out above the sea, 
Thy spangling gems of liberty 

That wave upon the breeze. 

Who signals for thy country 

A monarch in his might 
That spread upon thy battle ship 

In the moon-light, clear and bright. 

Who wave to every foreigner, 

To every creed alike ! 
Who bears the sturdy mariner, and 

Over every pike ! 

Who'll help to build her cities, 

A betterment retain 
Is the standard of America 

From every rolling plain. 

Then let us sing of Stars and Stripes, 

Fit emblem of the day. 
That cherish every noble act 

And ope' for her the way. 
—11— 



What I8 Woman. 

Woman is a christian science — 

A science that never tells — 
How bad a pain, how dark a cloud, 

How distressing or how loud. 
She has a smile for every tear — 

A hope for every storm — 
A word for every sad mistake 

That human life partake. 
She's born and bred for higher thoughts 

Than on this life depend, 
A base as well as ornament 

That higher courts ascend. 
And so we look to womanhood 

For wisdom's ways divine, 
More glittering than diamonds shine 

Her character sublime. 

The Table and the Chair. 

I. 
By the side of the table there leans a chair, 

Which many a home has treasured, 
From the humble cot to the palace wall, 

How many a space has measured. 
II. 
Here sits the man who crowns him king 

And others sitting master 
Who followed every glass of wine 

And others coming after. 
III. 
Ho, ho, says he for the boys in blue 

They are my warm companions, 
I hate those democratic heirs 

They are strong as an eagle's talons. 



IV. 

He laughs and drafts his many bills 

Inclined to be most partial, 
He knows that yearning hearts abide 

Dying to be court-martial. 

V. 
Or some other city run 

Whose salaries fly to millions, 
Not for glory's humble son, 

But the man of many trillions. 

VI. 

And here they argue where to run 

Around this wooden table 
They cast their votes, they don't know why, 

Their minds are so unstable. 

VII. 

And every time a party stirs, 

Whether large or democratic, 
The same old song of hard up times 

And o'er the world a panic. 

The Trunk* 

I'm tossed on the wagon, 

Jerked and hauled, 
Packed and tumbled about, 

Down to the sidewalk, 
Into the house, 

I never find time to pout. 
For I crowd every car, and 

Fill the big boat. 
Rolling and packing you see. 

And I sometimes stay home 
When I can't go abroad. 

Quite happy and content I be. 

—13— 



Yes, I go with the traveler, 

The poor and the rich, 
I keep a straight track of him, 

I carry his garments, though 
In need of a stitch 

For he loves me, the dear little soul. 
I've been left in the dark 

With nothing to talk. 
Packed away in the baggage car ; 

And oh, what a shriek, when 
I heard them say 

I've come for the trunk to-day. 
I never grow tired of moving around, 

'Tis grand to be rolling about, 
Delighted I am to slide to the door 

And hear the old woman shout. 
So I travel by land and I travel by sea, 

Accompanying the great and the small. 
How I hear the words of the wicked who 
swear. 

Unmerciful they let me fall. 
But after all, I'm a good little trunk. 

Rolling and tumbling about. 
Handled by the wise, handled by the fooJ, 

I never have time to pout. 

The Children. 

Do you hear the children 

Shouting while at play, 
Romping through the schoolyard 

With a heart so gay? 
Hear their merry laughter 

Ringing through the air. 
Roguish little youngster 

Climbing everywhere. 

—14— 



Have they not a sorrow, 

Have they not a pain, 
Only some little maiden 

Trying it again? 

And I see them playing 

Shall it always last, 
Romping through the schoolyard 

Forgetful of the past. 

No it will be ended. 

Cloudy years will roll. 
Snatching childhood's vision 

Even of the soul. 

Chilling hearts once tender 

In the wicked world, 
Fighting through life's journey 

Over tempest hurled. 

And the once bright faces 

Now are dim with tears, 
Faint recall their school days 

Of forgotten years. 

In the great reality 

Piling thick and fast. 
Like a mighty mountain 

Crushing them at last. 

And the bitter trials 

Could they've known btfore, 
When they romped the school yard 

In the long ago. 

—15— 



To A Friend. 

If you were rich and I were poor,. 

I'd have no burden at my door, 
Nor entertain a sullen fear 

How it was you came so near, 
. Fortune only smiled at you 

If you were rich and I were poor. 
If you were rich and I were poor 

I'd praise you for and wish you more, 
For the energy you have given 

And if no weary hearts have riven, 
The place on earth you well deserve 

If you were rich and I were poor. 

If you were rich and I were poor, 

I still would strive to reach that shore, 

Bearing all with patient care 
Still with others I would share 

And my humble toil resume. 

If you were rich and I were poor. 

If you were rich and I were poor, 
And never cared to see me more, 

I'd bear no malice in my heart, 
Far into the avenues of life apart. 

Nature itself can speak to me. 
If you were rich and I were poor. 

There^s Sunshine Kow. 

I. 
There's sunshine now, the clouds have roll'd 

away, 
No lingering shadow on the walls portray. 
And through the open door there steals 
A flood of light that heaven reveals. 



II. 

He's gone, — that wretched vision of the past, — 
That seem no end — more like to last, — 
Yet in the midst of sea and tide 
I see them cross on the other side. 

III. 
And who can tell where in the heart hath said 
There is no light, even hopes are dead ; 
When thus betwixt a moment's time, 
A light arose in grandeur, all sublime. 

IV. 

And why not rest from this unruly past, 
With upward sails and hidden mast; 
For every hour is worth the while, 
For each renewal of a happy smile. 

My Mother^ 8 Flower Vase, 

It was my mother's flower vase, 

A treasure rich and rare, 
That decks the mantel's favorite place. 

It has no equal there. 

Its broken edges touched by time 

Across the ancient face. 
Where moulded flowerets cease to climb 

Some gilted leaves I trace. 

The flowers that it used to hold 

My mother's face I see. 
Fair visions rise among the gold. 

The dearest gift to me. 

The scented leaves, the sweet perfume, 

A grief I never knew. 
Until I peeped into her room 

To find them such a few. 

—17- 



And though the flowers I have none 
Like the flowers my mother had, 

Its sacredness for me has won 
A spot that makes me glad. 

And when I look upon that vase, 

That ancient fair design, 
No higher price that I can place 

Than just to call it mine. 

When You Have Money, 

I. 

When you have money, no matter where you go, 
Kind hearts will gladden you at the door ; 

But how you got it, it matters not. 
When you have money. 

11. 
When you have money, the world is always near 

To praise you with their ringing cheer ; 
For all the good you are to them, 

When you have money. 

III. 
When you have money, then friendship itself is 
strong. 
Too good to drag along 
For you are great and very great, 
When you have money. 

IV. 
When you have money, a power that always 
rules, 
Down in this world of many schools, 
Who will never learn to see the truth. 
Unless with money. 

—18- 



The Great Ambition, 



Warning. 

He told me not to go into the great ambition 
of a youthful soul, 
Where incense burn and fires aglow, where 
hundreds of her stars unfold ; 
Their innocence and sacred trust, 

Holding out to mortal dust, 
A thing unsought, unknown by name, 
Only as it went it came. 

He Went. 

A dreary aspect all around, 

A sickening gust that cannot calm, 

A long lost seed that sometimes find, 
- Its wieldy weight up on the ground 

Then sinks into a deeper mire, 

Than all the metals shaped with fire, 

An agonizing grewsome toil. 

As long as life remains her spoil. 

Experience. 

And after all the goal we reach, 

After many a weary lesson teach. 
That life was not then what we thought, 

The object of ambition wrought. 
And not to sail the glassy sea, 

A hallowed creature all to be, 
But that this life was made for strife, 

E'er to reach eternal life 

—19- 



Conclusion. 

And now to waste this precious time 

Or bow to this unholy shrine, 
Or ask for that which cannot give 

The soul's eternal peace within. 
For after all our aims have won 

What have we when this life is done, 
A rest from earth's continual strain, 

Wherein ambition sought to gain. 

The Minister, 

I. 
**There's nothing for you," the minister said, 

As he visited the home of a widow one day, 
" There ' s nothing for you ' ' and he looked all around 

As if quite a mantel of dust he found. 

II. 
The widow, whose heart had already been crushed. 

Had suffered through many a want of support, 
But thought that a minister's words would be kind 

Far above the numerous faults to find. 

Ill 
For Sabbath after Sabbath he had preached the 
Word, 
That faith without works were all unheard 
And fully persuaded the people to stand 
And be willing to lend him a helping hand. 
IV. 
But, ah ! when he came to her humble door, 

Where were the proverbs so wonderfully told? 
Gone,— into the great cavern of night, 
Whence there falleth no beautiful light. 

—20— 



V. 

And sadder the words as he drawled them out, 
That the outside world knew nothing about, 

For the outside world had sped no gloom 
Over this desolate widowhood. 

VI. 

And the sermons he preached and the visits he 
made 
Were as far from the heart as an idle tale, 
For there were no such practice of faith and good 
works, 
But of the man who forever shirks. 

Look for the Beautiful. 

I. 

Look for the beautiful, be not dismayed. 

When surroundings are doubtful and hopes 
have decayed, 

Look for the beautiful, you'll find it alway 

Shining somewhere through shadows each day. 

IL 

Look for the beautiful, in the ugly you'll see, 
A charm more truthful than beauty can be, 

A grace more tender, a heart more brave. 

Than an ill-fated vessel upon a storm-tossed 
wave. 

III. 

Look for the beautiful, she smiles everywhere. 
She gleams from the frightful as well as the fair, 

She hides from the scorner who dares to confess 
That he sees a bright corner for every distress. 

—21— 



IV. 
And contentment is beauty, and beauty content, 

If we aim for our duty there's less to relent, 
For all that is beautiful, all that is rare, 

If we look we shall find it surpassingly fair. 

My Garden. 

I. 
Fenced in by narrow pickets tall, 
My own little garden best of all. 

A wondrous spot so fair. 
I look around, the sweet perfume 
Of many roses in full bloom. 

A fragrance rich and rare. 
II. 
The hyacinths, the laughing pinks, 
Bursting forth when no one thinks, 

In brilliant hues unfold. 
Their petals wear a rosy red 
Among the other flowers that tread, 

A beauty to behold. 
III. 
And over there the lillies tall , 
Peeping out from against the wall 

In robes of white. 
And other beds afar I see. 
Sweet violets seem to hide from me 

Clear out of sight. 
IV. 
The humming birds from far and near 
Hover around my floWers dear, 

Throughout the day. 
- They steal along the rose-leaf vine, . 
And sip the sv^eets so rich and fine, 

And flee away. 



V. 

No artist can impose a sketch 

Of this my garden's humble stretch, 

Of blooming flowers. 
With all there falls the morning clew 
Shining bright the summer through. 

A trail of bowers. 

War, 

I. 

Is this the way you tories work upon the battle 

field? 
Before a flashing bayonet thy smitten subjects 

yield. 
O'er waters and canyons, oh, hear we not the call, 
From every troop commanding, a monarch 



II. 
They reel and sink in battle. 

They hear the piercing cry, 
The tingling of death's rattle 

Along the solemn tread. 
III. 
Oh, hasten to battle, 

A conflict ne'er shall end, 
Till the last foe is vanquished, 

A power to defend. 

IV. 
Till the last word is uttered 

And silence prevails, 
Storm after Tempest 

The country thus assails. 

-23- 



Golden Rod, 

I. 

Golden rod, golden rod, blooming everywhere, 

In the silent breezes nod, shining, oh, so fair. 

In the glowing meadow are seen 

O'er shady hills of green, 

Golden rod, golden rod, blooming everywhere. 

II. 
Golden rod, golden rod, in the quiet vale, 
Over every turn of sod, skipping through the dale, 
In the little stalks are seen 
Peeping from the leaves so green. 
Golden rod, golden rod, over every vale. 

III. 
Golden rod, golden rod, blooming for us all. 
Over every turn of sod, be it e'er eo small. 
Even for the great and wise 
Like a diamond from the skies. 
Golden rod, golden rod, be it e'er so small. 

England, 

I. 
Down with barbarity 

For vengeance is not hers. 
The prowling strength the scepters yield, 

When prince of scepters flee. 
II. 
Thy boasted sails and sullen craft 

Hath sailed the angry sea, 
And shout aloud for selfish greed 

Beyond immensity. 
III. 
O'er every field and province 

She e'er has lent a hand. 
To satisfy her hunger 

And gratify the land. 



IV. 

Whose thirst knows no quenching, 

Afire with selfish greed, 
Ye tories of old England, 

Where is her noble seed? 

V. 

Gone through the ages, 

Centuries have grown, 
And no more that energy 

In thy sons have sown. 

VI. 
Peace is thy standard 

And silence thy might-. 
Quiet old England 

Shall never more fight. 

A Gentleman. 

We all know a gentleman when we see one. 
He doesn't have to tell us he is there 

With all the chivalry of a monster rare. 
Like some proud mountain looks aloft, 

O'er small crevices of earth apart 
From the foundation of his heart. 

Who Conldnn Get Married? 

I. 
Who couldn't get married, to be an old slave, 

Up the hill down the hill, down to the grave. 
Who couldn't get married, to be a fair bride, 

A rib of old Adam, to walk by his side. 
II. 
Who couldn't get married, for the sake of a home, 

A dutiful couple never to roam. 
Who couldn't get married, ^or better or for wore 

Who couldn't get maried with a big fat purse. 

-25— 



III. 

Who couldn't get married, or who couldn't be 
sweet, 
Who couldn't get married, a pleasure to seek, 
Who couldn't get married or who couldn't be 
loved, 
Who couldn't be happy outside of a glove. 
IV. 
Then to get married is not to be blest, 

And to be loved is not to find rest, 
Out of one trouble into another, 

Maring one life and blessing some other. 

The Two Paths or A Walk in Life. 

I. 

Smooth Path. 
Oh, will you go to yonder dell, 

Across the wooded plain, 
Across a bashful rivulet 

Winding through the lane. 
Where the lovers love to dwell 

How they love and love so well, 
Oh, will you go when all is clear, 

No darkness seemeth near? 

II. 
Rough Path. 
Oh, will you go when the path is drear, 

When clouds arise with midnight fear. 
Where billows dash and tempest roar 

And wintry blasts sweep o'er and o'er. 
Isn't that enough for a soul so frail, 

Lost upon an icicled slippery sail. 
Lost from the once bright beacon light 

That led its way to the port in sight. 



III. 

Enough, enough, I cannot go 

Through wintry paths of ice and snow, 

I pray thee give me a smoother lane 
Quite free from every cross and pain ; 

A flowery path I much prefer, 
If you will kindly lead me, sir. 

IV. 
Not so my child, the angel cried. 

Not one of my subjects on earth can hide 
They all must traverse the same dark lane, 

Whether it be stony or filled with pain, 
If you not willing the path to tread. 

You'll not be following where the Savior led. 

V. 

For over the desert dark and cold. 

The prophets have traversed in the days of old, 
And the speaker arose, when she heard him say— 
With a tear in her eye, she went her way. 

The Earth. 

Every day the earth rolls round 

With the same old valleys and hills, 
With the same old sun and stars by night. 

With the same old rapture fills. 
With the same old clouds, with the same old skies, 

With the same old fountains flow. 
With the same old song that the tune inspires. 

With the quaint old summer morn. 
And the fearful sound of the ocean roll. 

And the beast of the forest roar, 
And the trembling earth from her bowels heave, 

. And blast o*er her dreary shore. 



And storm after storm under the same old clouds 

In the same old earth abound. 
Oh, who would not tire from its grievous pain 

Or shudder to hear its sound. 

And the same old toil under the same old yoke, 

And the same old troubles_foil, 
And the same old tears, with the same old smiles 

Perish as the earth rolls on. 

And over the glistening snow I see 

The same weary footprints stamp, 
With the same old tales and many times told 

Out on the icy bank. 

And the same old world rolls around every day. 

With the same old battles of life. 
With the same weary souls, in the same old strife. 

With the same old day and night. 



JEaater, 

I. 
'Twas Easter, o'er a world of light, 

Arose a queen from fairy-land 
Making every heart so bright 

That shook her jeweled hand. 
As if there were no piercing gloom. 

But all the earth was full in bloom. 

II. 
"What?" sighed a woman, looking around, 

Amid the gay and bright. 
Not one was found 

Clad in robes of night. 
And while the bells were ringing gay, 

People assembled in the church to pray. 

—28— 



III. 

*'Am I alone?" she sighed? 

"In sorrow all alone." 
And the more she cried 

All, all is gone. 
And there she sat and sobbed in grief, 

But the Easter chimes brought no relief. 



IV. 

"Can I be joyous this Easter Day?" 
"You can," the queen replied. 

"Fairest how can I pray, 
My husband has just died." 

And the organ began its loud refrain. 
Repeating the glorious Easter strain. 



V. 

"How can I be joyous," she sobbed again? 

Pray tell me, thou fairy queen, 
"Who ruleth the starry plain, 

Death thou hast never seen." 
And over the church the fairy flew, 

Blending with music and happy too. 

VI. 

"'Tis nothing, 'tis nothing," she said, 
"We've all had our sorrows and tears, 

Christ is alive who once was dead, 
And to Him we carry all our fears." 

So the chimes still rang from the organ loft. 
Rendering her music low and soft. 

—29- 



VII. 
*'Tis all a mockery," she said, 

"Not the fairy, but the woman in black. 
Since I know my husband is dead 

My life is a miserable rack." 
And she paid no heed to the Easter chime 
That floated above her, their joyous 
chime. 

This Wonderful Age. 

I 
'Tis a wonderful age we are living in 

An age of wonderful skill , 
Where progress has reached her zenith. 

When the world seems to have had her fill. 
II. 
Too fast for the slow and clever. 

Too slow for the swift flying bird, 
Who makes his money by the millions 

And makes it all in a word! 

III. 
No time has he to consider 

Whether there be modesty or vice, 
But rather, more time to ponder 

Over rivals and bribery for gold. 
IV. 
Get some old poster of a woman 

Half stooped in a symmetrical form, 
To the world she's a dazzling beauty 

To lend such a magical charm. 
V. 
If it takes such beauties to brighten 

The hearts of this electric age. 
Impure, immodest and disgraceful. 

It's certainly a wonderful stage. 

—30- - 



VI. 

Who hangs out their license of marriage 
That the world may read it and know, 
That the great ambition has outrivaled 
Her sisters of centuries ago. 
VII. 
Who cared not even to mention. 

Yet were true to the day of their death? 
Too slow for this age and too modest 
Where everything's done at a breath. 
VIII. 
No time to be lost in searching 

For wisdom, knowledge and truth, 
This swift, fly age has no conscience 
Too old, for the proverbs of youth. 
IX. 
No matter how bold and impertinent 

So long as the dollars display, 
Even in God's holy sanctuary 
Where they come to worship and pray. 
X. 
Where they sing, smooth over and cover, 

And say not a word to disclose 
These immodest attires of women, 
Everywhere in the streets and doors. 
XI. 
That flourish on pages of literature, 

And scorn at the modest and pure. 

The old time women are too backward, 

Their manners and ways are absurd. 

XII. 

Of course, they belong to the smart set, 

Who cannot take time and wait ; 
Yes, wait for the men to come after them, 
But they go after the men. 

-31— 



XIII. 
And no wonder there's no great heros, 

And haven't the least bit of respect 
For women who serve as their posters, 

Whose models have a poor effect. 
XIV. 
There they roll and tumble together, 

Too fast for the sayings of old, 
Too swift for the modest and truthful 

When their souls are raving for gold. 

XV. 

And they die in their sins every minute 
With heartaches and longing for more. 

Their greed has become uncontrolable 
They are lost from the eternal shore. 

XVI. 
Then help us Lord to remember 

That while we are raving for more. 
Help us not to forget our characters 

To have them spotless and pure. 

Varied Thoughts, 

Women are styled posters, men are made to 

admire. 
The world is made to hold them and to pass 

them by. 
Of all the world there's none like the summer 

flowers that grow 
The sparkling gems that twinkle so, 
In starry crowns above. They talk to earth in 

silence 
Breath out their filial love behind her light 

secreted is God's own light above. 

—32— 






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